Pacing my room. It’s Thursday. The sun fills my room, enhanced by the yellow below the chair rail. A prism sticker casts rainbows that so so slowly sweep the room as the sun moves across the window. Pacing my room. An unfinished project in the basement directly under my feet. I wonder what it sounds like to be in the basement while I’m pacing above. “You should get to work.” “This is how working from home goes, you have to have better boundaries about productivity.” “Finish the thing, you got this!” Yeah, but, we all saw Alex Pretti get shot to death. I went to work this week already. I left my home to go to work. I’m tired. I know what I’m doing. I don’t know what I’m doing. “Don’t become the people who hurt you.” Yes, well, they had fewer people who would ever question them, and I’m tired. I know I will never treat another person the way they treated me. Taking my time, that should be a thing I allow myself, and that just so happens to resemble the people who hurt me.
I want to be present. There is work to do. There is art to make. Places to show up. I want to be all the way *here* but I have been pulled back into rumination over things that happened years ago. Why? Cause I logged on and a feed showed me that my friends are still actively spending energy on the people who hurt me. Ruminating to remind myself that my experience is valid, and the wound reopens. “Do they even believe you?” “What is their stance if they still laugh with this person?” They don’t owe me anything. But is that true? Wait a minute. How did it feel when my other friends told me they had my back and SHOWED me? It felt real. It felt like light on my face. It made me cry. “Why don’t you loosen your grip around people who tiptoe around the thing that always ends up hurting you?” Okay.
Wait, what does it mean to loosen my grip? “Well, you’ve done it before. You see a floating plane in the fog ahead of you under where you stand, so step down. Okay it’s sometimes a fall down. You hit the plane and get your footing. Have a look at where you fell from. You see them. They are still making memories with people who straight fucked you up. Leave them there. Let them have that life. Adjust yourself now. Look forward, not back (Remember Lot’s Wife). Have a cry, that fall hurt. But there is a path, you already know, it gets made with every step.”
I do not have to spend energy on anything other than surviving the late stage fascist fuckery we are in. That is okay. Breathe. I need all of my energy to be spent on surviving and offering myself to help humanity birth a new world. Whatever the fuck that means. I’m here. I am who I needed when I was a child.
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